


Beyond Edoras

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo struggles for balance between his unrequited (?) love for Faramir and his physical desire for the new king of Rohan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

rodo could not turn his gaze from him. Long gold-red hair, the filth and tangles gone, gleaming in the spring sun. The white tree on his tunic was now free from splotches of mud from the wild of Ithilien. His gray eyes were clear and proud as he held Aragorn's crown in strong, sure hands.

*He does not mind that the line of stewards is ended*

Frodo's heart swelled, and at that moment, Faramir met his gaze and gave him a gentle smile. Frodo looked down, his cheeks heating. He had last seen Faramir on the dark day they had parted in Osgiliath. During the dark struggle through Mordor, the days of blackness and whip lashes in Cirith Ungol, when the wheel of fire had overtaken nearly all his thoughts, he would remember the compassion in Faramir's eyes when he had released Sam and Frodo. That look in his eyes would be a ray of light that would for just a moment, penetrate the darkness.

Now that the shadow had passed and neither of them faced the danger of falling under the influence of the Ring, Frodo had much he longed to discuss with Faramir. While Frodo had recuperated in the Houses of Healing, Gandalf had told him that Faramir was very learned in matters of history and elves, both subjects dear to Frodo's heart.

"His father did not love him for it," Gandalf had said, sighing. "For it was warriors like Boromir who were valued in a city so often in conflict."

Frodo could understand all too well. Even among his closest friends and kin in the Shire, Frodo had always felt isolated because he sought knowledge in obscure and lofty topics.

A warmth filled his stomach as it truly hit him that their toil was over. He was free to do as he would with the remainder of his life. So long had he been full of narrow purpose, foregoing happiness and expecting death, that now that it was over, he felt bewildered and shy, like a caged bird that had been set free in the wild.

Tonight there would be a feast, and Frodo intended to sit beside Faramir.

 

***

"Will you choose a seat already!" Pippin tugged at Frodo's sleeve. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," Frodo said faintly, craning his head toward the entrance to the hall. Already, the hall had filled with bustling folk, all eager to partake in the feast, but there was no Faramir. Frodo swallowed the hard lump of disappointment in his throat. Nearly everyone had arrived, and the empty seats were being filled at an alarming rate.

"Where will you be sitting, Masters Halflings?" A Man carrying four cushions bowed before Frodo, and Frodo flushed, annoyed that this Man had made it so obvious to everyone in the hall that the hobbits needed cushions to sit on regular chairs, as if they were children.

"Frodo." Merry nudged him. "If you do not make up your mind, we'll not be able to sit together."

"All right," Frodo said, casting a mournful glance toward the entrance. Everyone was to be at the feast, and Frodo had daydreamed about meeting Faramir here since the coronation, and for the first time in months, his thoughts had been light and frivolous. All afternoon, he had laughed easily, like a young girl in the throes of new love. New love? He thought about Faramir's fair hair, his kind eyes, the gentle tone of his voice. He was not meant to be a captain of Men during a time of war. His place was in a quiet hall where he could be surrounded by gentle folk, riveting books, and good food. Now that could be possible.

Frodo had dressed carefully for the feast, wearing a silk tunic in gray-blue. He stood before the mirror and whistled a little. He had gained some of his weight back and though he was far from being the plump ideal, at least his face was beginning to look more rounded again, and color had come back to his cheeks.

"Cousin Frodo," Merry had said in surprise. "I'm glad to see you so cheerful! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sweet on some lucky lass."

Frodo had flushed. "There are no hobbit lasses in Gondor, Pippin, and I doubt any of the good ladies of Minas Tirith would want a husband with nine fingers who only comes up to her chest."

Pippin and Merry had burst into laughter at that last. Frodo had smiled at his reflection, thinking again to the sweet smile Faramir had bestowed upon him during the ceremony.

***

Once settled at the long table, seated on a cushion with Sam on one side and a Gondorian soldier he did not know on his other side, he kept his eyes strained toward the entrance. Every time someone entered, his heart would leap, but when he saw it was not Faramir, his throat would fill with new disappointment. There was one seat remaining across from him, and if Faramir did not enter soon, the seat would surely be taken.

And sure enough, not but two minutes later, Eomer of Rohan took the seat. Frodo swallowed, hoping his disappointment did not show.

"I am honored to sit across from the Ringbearer," Eomer said, nodding at Frodo. Frodo managed a return smile.

He said, "And I am honored to be at a table full of so many great people."

"Great deeds have been done by many at this table," Eomer said, sipping his wine. "But all would have been in vain if not for your brave deeds, Master Holbytla." Eomer's gaze pierced through him and it seemed that the Man could read his thoughts.

Frodo blushed at such nonsense, and he glanced around Eomer's broad shoulder, again looking for Faramir.

"You're not eating a thing," Pippin whispered, and Sam's head whipped around to look down at Frodo's plate.

"Are you not feeling well?" Sam asked. "Shall I help you back to bed?"

Eomer looked concerned, and Frodo felt embarrassed. He shook his head. "I am all right," Frodo said quickly, forcing a piece of meat down his throat. He gulped half of the contents of his wineglass to wash the food down.

"Steady," Eomer said, laughing. "Gondorian wine can be more potent than you Shirefolk might imagine."

Eomer's laugh was rich, his deep eyes fathomless and stern, yet Frodo found that it was easy to laugh with him. "And I am certain the pipeweed of our country would lay challenge even to a great warrior such as yourself."

"Perhaps someday I shall find out."

"Perhaps your young soldier of Rohan will send you some," Frodo said, lifting his eyebrows at Merry.

"I can command it of him, should I wish," Eomer said in a deep voice. "Perhaps I would bid that he send the Ringbearer to deliver it for me."

Frodo found Eomer's bantering to be a refreshing distraction, though he found his eyes wandering constantly to the door. Still, Faramir did not appear. He, too, had been wounded by the arrows of the Enemy, and perhaps the darkness pressed upon him as it did Frodo when his shoulder ached. He would likely not come this evening, and suddenly everything seemed dim and gray.

"That was a melancholy sigh, Master Halfling," Eomer said.

"Call me Frodo." Frodo wearied of all the great folk using such lofty titles. He longed for the familiarity of the Shire. He remembered there had been a time less than a year back, when his own heart had been so light that he had danced upon a table in Bree.

"I apologize," Eomer said, pausing only for a moment. "Frodo." He smiled slightly as if the name sounded strange to his ears but yet pleased him. "Frodo," he said again.

Just as folk were beginning to stir and rise from the table, trickling out in groups of two or three, bidding one another good night, Faramir strode in the entrance. Frodo could not believe his good fortune. The feast hall took on new colorful life, and it was now the only place he wished to be. He jumped from his chair, eager to talk to him before anyone else stole his attention.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam called. "Where are you going?"

"I will be back."

Just as he had nearly reached Faramir and was about to call out to him, Faramir turned away sharply. "Lord Eomer!" he called. Frodo startled, unaware that Eomer had followed right behind him.

Frodo stood awkwardly, tapping his toes on the marble floor, trying to control the beating of his heart. Now that it seemed he might get a moment alone with Faramir, he had no idea what he would say. He felt foolish and tongue-tied, like a young hobbit courting a lass for the first time.

"Frodo!" A hand clasped Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo whirled around, gasping. "I am sorry to startle you." Faramir laughed softly. "Lord Eomer says you wish to speak to me."

Frodo's tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not speak while Faramir's hand was on his shoulder. He nodded.

"I meant to speak to you today," Faramir continued. "But I've not stolen the chance. Right now I must deliver a message to one of my Men still recovering from wounds in the Houses of Healing. Will you not join me on the walk?"

Frodo's legs trembled, but he nodded. "Yes, I would love to." His cheeks heated. He could barely believe his luck. He had imagined that they might get to talk for a few minutes in the feast hall with many surrounding them, but it was beyond his wildest daydreams that he would accompany Faramir on a private walk. He tried to steady his breathing as he followed Faramir out of the hall. At the corner of his eye, he saw that Eomer watched their departure, and Frodo frowned slightly, wondering why he looked like he was bothered by it.

Faramir kept his hand on Frodo's shoulder as they walked down the narrow street. A fresh spring breeze ruffled Frodo's curls, and he shivered in delight.

"Are you cold?" Faramir asked, looking down in concern.

"Oh, no," Frodo said, blushing. "I am all right…I…I had meant to speak to you as well." Frodo's cheeks heated even more. Of course that was a foolish thing to say. Eomer had already told Faramir that Frodo wanted to speak to him.

Faramir did not seem fazed, though, and he said, "I mainly wanted to thank you, Frodo. And to tell you that if there is anything at all I can do for you—anything—consider it done, though I can think of nothing worthy of your deeds."

"Oh," Frodo said, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Binding you, blindfolding you, interrogating you…" Faramir laughed gently. "These are not things that men of honor do to the savior of their lands."

"How could you have known?" Frodo said. "We could have indeed been orc spies, as Anborn called us."

"Not you." Faramir's soft smile warmed Frodo from his hairy toes up to his forehead. "You're far too fair for that." He chuckled a little. "Perhaps Samwise. He was a force to be reckoned with."

"Indeed," Frodo laughed. Had Faramir truly said he was fair? His arm was so close. Did he dare link arms with the Man? He bumped against him, and every slight brush of skin sent a tingling sensation through him.

Faramir became serious. "I am glad that you came out of it unscathed. I worried so about you after we parted."

*Just do it.*

Frodo slid his arm through Faramir's, looking up at him, the smile trembling on his lips. Faramir accepted Frodo's gesture, and they walked in pleasant silence.

"What plans—" Frodo began.

"What will you—" Faramir said at the same time.

They laughed, and Faramir gently pulled out of Frodo's arm. "I am sorry. I meant to ask what you plan to do now. Will you return to the Shire soon?"

Frodo's smile faded. He did indeed want to go home. He missed the rolling green hills, he missed Bag End. He missed walking down the road and not having everyone tower over him. But what was there for him? Sam had his Rosie waiting, and Merry and Pippin were young – many years still stretched before them. For them there would be wives and hobbit babes and rich life.

"It pains you to return?" Faramir asked quietly. "Or do your wounds trouble you?"

"Oh, no," Frodo said hastily. He forced a smile. "It is nothing."

Faramir stopped in front of a doorway to the Houses of Healing. "I am here."

"Oh," Frodo said, his chest tightening in disappointment. He had nearly forgotten that Faramir had a reason for the walk beyond wanting to talk to Frodo.

Faramir bowed slightly, touching his hand to his breast. "We shall see each other soon, I should think. Do you know your way back?"

"Yes," Frodo said, nodding. "I've walked it many times." He bowed back. "Have a good night, Faramir."

"Goodnight, Frodo." Faramir turned and disappeared inside the cottage.

Frodo clutched his arms as he walked up the stone street toward the cottage he shared with Gandalf and his cousins. He felt somewhat remiss that he had not bid any others at the feast a good night, but his friends would understand. Alas, Frodo thought with a silent groan, they might have guessed a bit too much.

Already out of breath from the steep incline, Frodo paused a moment to gaze up at the stars. He breathed in the fragrant spring air. "Ah, Elbereth, thank you. Thank you for giving me hope."

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A tap on the door startled Faramir. He had mostly disrobed for the evening, and was in fact wearing nothing but leggings and his gray cotton shirt, tucked out. The wound in his chest throbbed dully, and he was more than ready to retire for the night.

"Come in," he said reluctantly. The door opened, and in stumbled the Ringbearer. What he was doing here so late at night, Faramir could not fathom. Frodo's eyes had been filled with peculiar longing yesterday when they had walked together through the streets of Minas Tirith. But now Frodo's cheeks were flushed and he swayed on unsteady feet. His breath was thick with wine.

The Ringbearer was intoxicated.

"Frodo…what a pleasant surprise. But…" Faramir fumbled to sound as gracious as possible. "What are you doing here? It is very late. I was…well, I was preparing for bed."

"Oh, I am sorry." Frodo's face fell. "Do you wish me to leave?"

"Oh, no…I am sorry." Faramir flushed. "Please…no. Come in and I shall make you some tea."

"I should hate to be a bother." Frodo swayed again, clutched at the wall for balance, and giggled a little.

"'Tis not a bother," Faramir said. After putting a kettle on the fire, he tugged the windows closed. "There is a chill to the night. Spring has come, but reluctantly."

"In the Shire, it is always chilly at night. I am used to it."

"Hmmm," Faramir nodded. He stifled a yawn, as he did not want to make Frodo feel guilty for disturbing him so late. "Have you heard, Frodo? The king has granted me Ithilien. I shall live in Emyn Arnen, which is in relative peace for the first time in as long as I can remember."

Frodo hiccuped. "I must congratulate you. You have earned it with your labors on the borders." Frodo giggled again, leaning precariously to one side until Faramir grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.

"I am sorry," Frodo said, struggling to keep steady on his feet. "I am afraid I have overindulged at the feast tonight. You were not there this time."

Faramir sat on the edge of his bed and shook his head. "I am sorry," he said. "I do not have much use for feasts."

He helped the hobbit onto his bed so that they could sit together, and he marveled at just how light he was. That so much toil and burden had been placed on such slender shoulders was unthinkable. That he had come through it alive was nothing short of miraculous.

"So…" Faramir looked down at Frodo with a soft smile. "What brings you abroad so late?"

"I came…" Frodo's eyes were bright and he clutched Faramir's arm with shocking strength. "I came because I had hoped…that is, I do not know when I shall go home and I wondered if you—"

Faramir's heart swelled with gratitude toward this small creature with the ridiculously large hairy feet who had saved them all. "What is it? If it is in my power to grant you something, I shall."

Frodo sprung suddenly to his knees and threw his arms around Faramir's neck. Before Faramir could react, the halfling had captured his lips in a vigorous kiss.

Faramir froze, too shocked to fight off the insistent tongue in his mouth or the frantic exploration of his lips. Somehow Frodo had misinterpreted something, had gotten a wrong impression. Of course, he had also consumed too much wine and would probably feel foolish in the morning.

Faramir gently pried Frodo's arms from around his neck and holding his shoulders, he looked into puzzled blue eyes. "You are not in your right mind."

"You didn't…you don't want that?" Frodo looked stricken, and he began to breathe rapidly. He closed his eyes in despair.

Faramir's ears buzzed, and his lips tingled from the halfling's kiss. "I…Frodo, I had no idea. I gave you no reason to think…If so, I deeply apologize. I shall take full blame."

Frodo ripped himself out of Faramir's grip and jumped off the bed. "I suppose not." His cheeks were bright splotches of red as he backed away in fury. He jerked his chin, and Faramir's stomach sank with sickening dread.

It was said that since the Ringbearer had awakened from near death, he had suffered from a malaise, out of which none could bring him, not even his faithful Sam. Adding to the frustrations of the king and his other dear friends, Frodo asked for nothing, and yet he continued to fail. Faramir saw now that he had inadvertently offered Frodo hope - and he had just as cruelly yanked it away. The one thing the Ringbearer had asked for, Faramir had denied.

"Frodo."

Frodo turned, his eyes distant and dull. Faramir was clutched by a sudden certainty that this halfling, this savior of Middle earth, would perish within a year if something was not done to heal the deep wounds to his spirit.

"Come…" Faramir held out his trembling arms. "Come…I … You merely took me by surprise."

Frodo paused, hand still on the door.

"Come," Faramir repeated, swallowing. He was not at all shocked by the idea that they were both male — these attractions were common in times of war. Faramir had seen it among his men and had turned a blind eye, never seeking it himself. He was not sure how … well, he had no idea what he was meant to do if he were to lie with Frodo.

Frodo was indeed a rare beauty, with his smooth skin and Elvish eyes, so ethereal and blue.

He had offered himself to Faramir, pure and simple. Faramir's heart lay ever with the lady of Rohan, and with her he would join for the remainder of his life. But did he not owe something to this tragically fair halfling who only asked for a night to forget his troubles?

"Come," Faramir said yet again, his throat catching. If it were in his power to grant Frodo some happiness, however brief, he would make it his duty.

He sat on the edge of his bed and when Frodo walked tentatively to him, standing between the Man's thighs, uncertain and quiet, Faramir reached with trembling hands and massaged the hobbit's slim shoulders.

Frodo shut his eyes, letting out a soft groan. Faramir's strokes grew more confident, stronger, and he had a sudden desire to run his callused fingers directly over that silky skin. Frodo's lips were full, half parted, and Faramir thought he might enjoy kissing them if he were not taken by such surprise as the last time. This obligation to the Ringbearer was no true burden. Faramir's groin warmed and stiffened.

It was not long before clothes were ripped off and flung into careless heaps, mouths pressed with bruising force against each other, and Frodo found himself pushed with dizzying force onto his back. Leaning over him, Faramir dealt harsh kisses on the halfling's soft neck. Then he rubbed his chest over Frodo's smooth skin, reveling in its silky texture. Frodo writhed pleasurably, groaning unabashedly. Faramir had a sudden sickening thought of what would happen if the Lady Eowyn should perchance pay him a late night visit as she occasionally did. He strove to block the image, for the very idea caused him to soften. He frantically kissed Frodo until the halfling gasped for air, and he hardened again.

Frodo fumbled for something on the bedside table. Faramir could not imagine what he could want there, but Frodo's fingers, working nimbly over his head, as Faramir had pinned his arms down, opened something. Faramir's nostrils were filled with the refreshing scent of cool mint.

"Let go," Frodo gasped, and Faramir released his arms. Frodo grasped Faramir, and the Man gasped as cool oil slid over his arousal. Frodo's fingers were slick and fast. It was possible that he had done this many times.

"I want you inside me," Frodo gasped, smiling, his eyes filled with more life than Faramir had yet seen out of him.

Eowyn's eyes were nearly the same color, though hers were closer to smoky gray, especially when she grew angry.

"I love-" Frodo blurted and then bit his lip, cutting himself off.

Faramir felt the heat of shame on his cheeks. This sweet creature writhing in pleasure beneath him could not possibly be satisfied with this one night. He betrayed his heart with his bright eyes and furious need.

And by indulging it, Faramir was only going to fan the flames. He was a rogue of the worst kind, as he had no intention of ever doing this with Frodo again.

Frodo thrust in frustration against Faramir's softening groin. Faramir felt repulsion at himself. He should not have allowed it to go this far. He felt himself shrivel and grow soft. Frodo thrust against him in frustration until finally growing limp.

"What is it?" he finally asked, biting his lip again. His eyes were dark.

"I am sorry," Faramir said and climbed off Frodo. Shivering, he pulled his leggings back on, careful not to look at Frodo.

Frodo let out an injured groan and covered his eyes with his arm.

"Frodo…" Faramir said in a gentle voice, touching the halfling's arm.

Frodo flinched and pulled away with sudden violence. Without a word, he rolled off the bed and grabbed his clothes from the floor.

"I cannot do this," Faramir continued, faltering. "But this has naught to do with you—"

"Hush," Frodo hissed, his cheeks bright red. "Leave me some dignity."

Faramir stepped back and at that moment, he wanted to take it back. He wanted to see the happy glow in those blue eyes again, the dimple in his cheek.

Frodo yanked on his breeches with startling speed and buttoned his shirt, leaving half of them undone. He quickly fled the room without a word.

Faramir sank onto his bed, his head falling into his hands. He had made a terrible mess of things.

 

***

 

Frodo was still intoxicated. He could tell by the way his feet refused to do what they were meant to do, such as the way that he kept stumbling. But the fury and humiliation -- oh, the humiliation was the worst! He would now return to the cottage he shared with the other hobbits and never set foot outside of it until they left for home. Aragorn and Gandalf and the others would understand. They would have to.

When he reached the stairs, his foot missed the top step and he tripped. He managed to grab the wall so that he broke his fall somewhat, but still, he tumbled down the remainder of the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom. He shut his eyes, his head spinning. He felt no pain but the sharp, jabbing thought that the one he wanted, the one whose memory had made Mordor bearable, had rejected him with such coldness.

"Frodo!"

The urgent voice so close to his ear startled him, and his eyes flew open. A large hand had fallen on his brow, and the King of Rohan hovered above him.  
"Are you all right? What happened? Did you fall?"

"Eomer?" Frodo asked. He tried to sit up, as he did not want Eomer to think he was injured. A wave of dizziness overcame him, and he sagged back down, groaning.

"Steady. Let me check to make certain you have not broken anything."

"I am not hurt," Frodo said, sitting up, this time much more slowly. "I just…I had too much wine at the feast."

Eomer stared at his chest, his deep eyes intense, and Frodo realized just how mussed he must appear.

"What happened to your shirt?" Eomer asked. "Surely all those buttons did not come undone in the fall."

"I'm afraid I…" Frodo flushed deeply. "I …" He fumbled for an excuse that would make sense, but could find none. "It is nothing."

Eomer swallowed and smiled, though Frodo thought he saw sadness in his eyes. "You do not wish to say. That is all right. You, above all others, deserve the seclusion to do as you will. Here, let me help you to your feet."

Eomer's hand was strong and sure as he helped Frodo to his feet. He kept his hands on Frodo's shoulders and looked him up and down. "You can move all your limbs?"

Frodo lifted one foot at a time as demonstration and shook his arms. He managed a smile, as he felt amused and moved by Eomer's concern. "Yes, I believe nothing's broken. I'm as good as new."

"Then please allow me to walk you to your cottage, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo wanted to protest. His heart felt sore, and he wanted nothing more than to be alone. Yet it was awfully kind of Eomer to be so concerned and to take such care of him.

"All right. But I am afraid I may not be such good company right now."

"That is all right," Eomer said. "For just walking beside you is an honor to me."

Frodo blushed, because he could tell that Eomer was not jesting. He clutched his hands in front of him as they walked, keeping his eyes forward. He wished more than anything that Faramir had paid him the same heed.

Frodo's stomach sank in the bitter certainty that Faramir did not return his affection and never would. He felt a gaping loss, like a giant section of his heart had been cut out and flung carelessly to the floor.

 

TBC


End file.
